Chapter 17
Wilson runs a hand through his hair, looking at the pile of folders at his feet. He'd really decide to sort them out, or at least to tell his secretary to do it. He closes his eyes suddenly when the door slams shut. He doesn't even turn around to see who is at the door.
"One day, do you think you'll be able to come in here like a normal person? Why don't you try to shock me, House?" he turns around, smirking from his chair, but then House looks up.
'Oh God...'.
House doesn't look at him in the eyes, tormenting his cane, but it doesn't take a lot to notice the dark circles under his eyes and the heavy layer of nervousness on his shoulders.
'He's going to explode at any moment'.
The real problem for Wilson, still observing him in silence, is the knowledge that House doesn't get angry. No, he just spits venom, he humiliates the others, he denigrates any form of socialization and interaction. All of this allows him to keep the others at arm's length, keeping his own abstruse balance. An isolated and self-destructive balance but still a balance. And everybody needs one.
He clears his throat, finding his seat incredibly uncomfortable and he uncorks his pen "Good afternoon, House. How are you?".
He looks up. He didn't sleep, or if he did, it was atrocious.
"What is the right answer?".
"Psychoanalysis is not a multiple choice test, there are no right or wrong answers. You tell me how you feel and then we'll start to talk". Wilson is really worried that any movement could make him spring into action, so he doesn't take notes about their session but he prays that he will stop to massacre the carpet with his cane soon. After two minutes of silence, it was clear to him that House wouldn't have talked about how he felt. There was no alternative, he had to give him carte blanche.
"So, House".
"Ok, doctor, I'm feeling magnanimous today. A topic at your will. You choose something".
This is new and he is perplexed, but his attention is again captured by his trembling hands. He knows what is the problem, but he doubts that he'll talk about it freely "Are you in withdrawal?".
He grins, his left hand stops shaking for a brief moment, just the time to firmly grasp the arm of the couch. He looks at his psychologist, smirking "So...You're saying that I'm addicted to something".
"What about Vicodin?".
"I need it for my leg".
"And the fact that you take them as If they were mints, it's still due to the pain in your leg?".
There's a harsh thud of his cane against the carpet and then he runs a nervous hand over his beard "The Vicodin is not the problem! I can stop taking it whenever I want, as long as I don't have any spasms in my leg! But the spasms will always be here, so, I must take the Vicodin!".
Wilson bites his lower lip, raising his eyebrows. He must appear more confident here (and it isn't one of his best qualities) so he leaves the blocknotes on the small table to his left, he gets up and starts walking around him, leaning against his desk soon after.
In Psychology, such attitude is used to make the "subject" feeling inferior or to make him or her understand that he or she isn't calling the shots in the office. When the subject understands this basic concept, you can switch to the equal relationship part: Neither lay down the law, both are comfortably sitting in conversation. On the same level. Sometimes, with House, he has to return to the first part. More or less every three sessions.
"Stop walking around me. I'm not a monkey at the zoo!".
"Let's presume, House, that I'm going to believe that you're not addicted to Vicodin".
"Perfect. Now, make your supposition a theory!".
He tenses up. He must change his tactics "But your hands are shakng".
"I'm cold".
He tries to look at him like he does with Jess when he denies the obvious "House?".
The "subject" raises his arms in a gesture of surrender but laughs "Ok, ok! You win. I've not taken a Vicodin for a couple of days, happy now?".
"I'm not glad that you're sick".
"But this is not the point. It's not the absence of the Vicodin, it's the pain that makes me sick!".
Wilson opens his arms, smiling, appearing as open and friendly as possible "Then talk to me about it, House!".
"For Christ's sake! ?".
Wilson shrugs, smiling, hands in pockets, approaching him "I'm here because of this, House, to listen to you. I'm paid for it".
"Ah, ah!".
He's confused "'Ah ah', what?".
House realizes that he's sweating and that his hand has started trembling more than before "It's because I'm paying you! Then tell me, would you still listen to me without the check from the hospital! ? Huh? You'd never be interested in what happens to me!".
He's reaching his breaking point. Wilson's sure about it. House's asking questions without logical sense, especially for someone like him. House just doesn't ask questions with no logical sense. He smiles again, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Very close "Most likely no, House. I've known you as a patient. Before that, I didn't even know you existed; except for your reputation as a doctor" he shrugs, his smile very friendly. It seems like he's been able to placate him "But, like you said a couple of months ago, If I'm not mistaken, I'm crazy about you!".
House snorts, abandoning himself on the couch, one hand on his forehead "Then don't stay so close to me. I prefer the opposite sex...".
"Good..." Wilson gets up, returning to his seat even though House doesn't look up and doesn't stop tapping his cane on the floor. He retrieves the blocknotes and his regular thuds end.
"Do you need someone to be interested in you?".
In part, he knows that he's exaggerated. He knows that any answer won't be directed to his question.
"No, the point is that I'm pissed off".
"Well, that's something" he sits down "And why, If I may?".
"My leg hurts" he stares at him. Because House doesn't look at you, he stares at you. "I don't have any Vicodin, therefore I need to manage with the pain in other ways".
"Did you hurt yourself?".
He looks shocked, angered "No! I just wanted to sleep, ok?".
Wilson nods, he just wants to let him speak.
"So, I made sure to pull the plug. Metaphorically, doctor, I didn't try to kill myself".
He writes down that remark.
"And then she goes crazy like that and runs away!".
Wilson looks at him blankly. House almost out of breath after that confession.
"She? Who is she?".
"Evy!".
He thinks for a moment because he doesn't remember..."Ok...And Evy is?".
"A whore". Wilson glares at him. "Pardon, a prostitute, a woman of easy virtue, a Rebecca, a Maddalena...".
"Ok, stop this blasphemy" he stops and thinks for a moment "What happened to..." he looks back at his papers "Cassie? For what I can remember, she was one that you...'saw' frequently. And you told me, quoting you...".
"I know what I told you" he opens his eyes "Cassie is gone! Now there is Evy, you don't like it?".
The curious thing is that someone like him doesn't change a habit without a good reason because, basically, people like him hate changes.
"And...Evy's been there since...?".
He doesn't even have to think of it. He torments the arm of the couch because that discussion is bothering him "For 2 months".
'Ok...'.
"So, she ran away before or after...".
"Before, obviously! Otherwise I wouldn't be so pissed off, right?".
Wilson is even more confused now. When they talked about sex or related topics, he was always very quiet, defiant, arrogant and offensive.
"And why did she leave? It never happened before?".
"No! No, it never happened! That's not why I call her!".
There's something he isn't saying, it's obvious. The blame is his, he doesn't know how, but there aren't many explanations as to why a prostitute runs away from a customer. He must have frightened her. "What did you do to make her go away?".
"Nothing".
He answers too fast, it's refreshing that sometimes he makes some mistake (rarely, but still...) "Didn't you want to pay her?".
"No...".
"Did you beat her?".
"NO! The fact that I pay to make sex doesn't mean that I'm an animal! Ok? !" he's angry now, very angry. He didn't beat her, but he must have done something of which he isn't proud of.
"Gregory, I'm sorry. I didn't want to...".
He's not looking at him again and he's tormenting his cane "Do not call me Gregory".
"I'm sorry...".
"I was drunk...Let's say that I've pissed her off" he looks up at him "But I didn't beat her!".
Wilson smiles, he's too nervous, too tensed up and he doesn't know how to explain the situation. It's usually complicated to work with him but today is impossible "Ok House, you didn't beat her, I'm sorry I even thought of it. I don't want you to tell me what happened If you don't feel comfortable...Whatever it was...It still bothers you" he sighs "It was maybe because you were drunk?".
He stops the cane, throwing his head back against the seat back "I had a bad day...".
"Something went wrong at work?".
"No...I didn't sleep well".
"It happens often...Why?".
House leans his elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples. He's tired and won't be answering his questions for long.
But Wilson has to insist "Why did you sleep badly?".
He looks out the window, twisting his mouth a few times "My leg hurt and I went to sleep in my office..." he clears his throat "I dreamt of the run to the hospital after Lisa's...incident" he snorts, looking at his watch "I'd say it's enough for today".
Wilson takes a deep breath "We still have half an hour".
He's already up "I have some errands to run".
"House, one last question and then you can go".
House sighs, uncomfortable, but he sits down again. He needs to leave.
"How did you react to the death of your child?".
He shrugs and looks back out the window. He doesn't want to talk about it "As a matter of fact. It happened. I couldn't do anything".
The psychologist nods. He knows he won't say anything more. In fact, House gets up and reaches the door without even a word. That's why Wilson is totally unprepared when he speaks again.
"I didn't have time to realize what was happening".
Wilson has just the time to turn to ask him something when the diagnostician raises his left hand and exits.
'God!'.
He hates him, every time he's so close to make him talk openly, he has to start over again and again. And that's what makes him impossible.
TBC...